The Horror of Sanctuary Hill

Mechanic Luther Redstone returns to his boyhood town of Sanctuary Hill Canada. He is a social pariah and returns to find things haven't change. But soon he will face a horror more terrible then anything he can imagine.
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Chapters:

During the late
autumn of 1983, the press and media started circulating stories
about the remote hamlet of Sanctuary Hill , stories which vaguely
told about some unknown catastrophe which had befallen the
inhabitants of that isolated community in the wilds of northern
Ontario. The state authorities put Sanctuary Hill under
quarantine and they did not elaborate about the fate of the five
hundred people who lived in that community, though rumors ranging
from some lethal virus to a mass cult suicide where the
prevailing theories among the public. People began to demand
answers but the government officials simply ignored the public's
cries. The media finally was able to get some information and it
was rather alarming; there where only a handful of survivors from
the unnamed disaster which had claimed the entire town, and these
few where quickly silenced by the authorities and spirited away
to undisclosed destinations.

The residents in
the surrounding rural communities began to give press interviews,
and some of them spoke of some kind of curse which had been over
Sanctuary Hill, though most in this secular society instantly
dismissed such notions as lunacy. Few people could have imagined
what had really happened, and the truth was far worse then evened
the most fevered imagination could have ever envisioned.
Sanctuary Hill, that town lost from civilization in a great
expanse of deep dark forests, so remote from every thing that it
was easy for them to hide the truth.

Since I am one of
the survivors of the horror that emerged and laid waste to that
place, I alone can tell the story of what really happened though
I'm sure what I have to say will be dismissed as the ravings of a
lunatic. But knowing the facts in this particular matter is a
hell from which I can never escape, for how does one cope with
having witnessed terrors which should not exist in any sane
world. I don't know how I can go on, how to live with what I saw
with my own eyes; how to live with seeing a nightmare in the
flesh. For I know of the dark, horrible things which conceal
themselves in the dark places where man's knowledge does not shed
light; and now I am afraid of the night and I never turn my
apartment lights off; fearing what may hide in the dark. I live
in a state of fear, for I honestly feel death comes for me on
silent wings.

My name is Luther
Redstone. A rather unexceptional person who is, or was, a auto
mechanic by trade. I had grown up in Sanctuary Hill and was a
social pariah because of some family history. I had left when I
was a young man with intentions of making something of myself in
a big city. I thought I had left Sanctuary Hill behind forever
and all the personal suffering I had experienced there. But
circumstances would bring me back, I wish I had never
returned.

Because I bear some
responsibility in what happened.

Chapter One: A Night in the
City

Night had just
fallen over the city of Ottawa as a sweltering heat of summer
began to subside, I remember the heat because the place where my
Alcoholics Anonymous meeting where being held was in a room with
only single oscillating fan providing relief from the heat. It
was actually my twelve month sober, quite an accomplishment for
myself since I had a severe drinking problem only a year before.
The room was full of people who where tackling the same demon as
myself, the booze. After I had sat and listened to a man named
Stan talk about how alcohol had lost him his job, his home, and
his wife in that order. I guess you need to hit rock bottom
before you know you need help. Rock bottom for me was getting
into an almost fatal car crash, judge told me I could either get
sober or go to jail. I chose the former.

The guy who resided
over this group was a rather affable Norman Dowd, a grandfatherly
looking guy who had been an extremely violent alcoholic and had
not touched a drop in over two decades. He turned to
me.

"So Luther, care to
tell the group about your accomplishment."

I stood up then did
my recovering alcoholic speech which I had done countless times
in the past year.

"My name is Luther,
I've been sober for the past year. I realized the destructive
impact it was having on my life and changed for the
better."

Someone in the
group, this heavy-set guy who always was dressed in the same
cheap t-shirt and whose name always escaped me, asked, "what
drove you to drink?"

I looked at the guy
momentarily, then replied, "I was trying to escape the past. My
life has been difficult and the alcohol was comforting but I
abused it. I don't need it."

Even as I spoke, I
wanted a drink more then anything else.

The group let out
around ten and I left. The building where the meeting was held
was in the run down area of the city, the area where the homeless
congregated and crime was common. A soft, cold wind blew from the
north, and it provided a momentary relief from the oppressiveness
of the summer heat. The streets seemed oddly empty that night, I
remember feeling as if I was somehow alone.

I arrived at the
bus stop. A simple green bench was placed beneath a flickering
street lamp. I sat down on the bench and waited.

I was startled when
a somewhat low, menacing voice spoke out.

"Going
home?"

I turned to see a
person who seemed to be a vagabond, dressed in rags and a hooded
sweater so I could not see his face, sitting on the bench. I
hadn't heard or seen him approach, he was just there all of a
sudden.

"Going home," he
asked again.

I said, "sorry, I
don't have any change, I'm a little bit tapped out to at the
moment."

Then he turned to
me. He had extremely pale skin, a strangely angular facial
features hidden beneath a grimy beard. His eyes where dark, and
struck my like there wasn't anything looking at me from behind
those eyes.

Then he spoke
again, and when his mouth opened I almost had a fit of revulsion,
these things that looked like maggots or worms fell from his
mouth and then wriggled about upon the ground. Yet even though
his mouth was infested with those things he still was able to
speak clearly.

"Going
home."

His jaw didn't move
when he talked.

I stood up and
started to back away when the every street lamp on the block went
dark for a few moments and when they came on on he wasn't
there.

Just then my bus
came to a rumbling stop and the curb and the door opened. I
looked around, unsure if what I had just seen was real or only in
my mind. I then boarded the bus and felt a sense of calm as it
rolled away from the bench.

I arrived at my
apartment just after eleven. It was a small, and it was well
kept. As I took my coat off I noticed that the light on the
answering machine was blinking. I walked towards the machine and
hit the message repeat button.

The machine spoke,
"You have one new message."

I then started to
walk about the apartment and open the windows to let the cool air
in as the message repeated. A really flat, emotionless voice
spoke.

"Mr. Redstone, I am
the executor of your late uncle's estate, his name is Peter
Redstone. I have called to inform you that he has named you the
soul beneficiary of his estate, you receive both his home and his
business, a garage; as well as roughly forty thousand
dollars."

I stopped what I
was doing, a mechanic by trade, I was interested in my uncle's
garage. It was actually him who taught me auto-motive mechanics,
I had spent much of my angst filled youth tuning up cars in that
garage. I was some what upset at his passing, though I had not
had any contact with him since I had left my boyhood home fifteen
years before.

The executor left
me his number so I could contact him.

About an hour later
I was laying in bed as I watched the ceiling fan rotate, it was a
little rusty and would make this metallic whining sound. I was
evaluating my life.

I admit some of my
previous history had made me avoid the town where I had spent my
troubled youth, I left intending never to return.

As I thought about
things the neighbors in the next apartment, a young couple who
had the most venomous arguments, where having their latest row.
The siren of a passing police car screeched out in the
night.

Though life in the
city had not turned out as I had planned, I worked several jobs
in garages that never went anywhere. A few women, not many, but
relationships seemed to be more headache inducing then meaningful
or fulfilling. Though most of the time in the city was fogged by
the years of drinking. I had to admit the prospect of returning
to Sanctuary Hill left me uneasy, but I was interested in owning
my own business.

So that night I
decided to return to the town of my youth, a drifted of to
sleep.

The dream
began.

I'm standing in a
black void, I can feel these little slimy things under my feet
that wriggle about but I can't see them. I look around, yet all I
can see is darkness. Then I can taste dirt in my mouth, and I
feel an extremely severe sense of claustrophobia, like I'm
entombed. I want to scream but I can't.

I woke up the next
morning screaming.

Chapter Two: The
Homecoming

Sanctuary Hill, a
small community, was a remote outpost of modern civilization in
one of the most remote regions in Northern Ontario. It was lost
amongst vast forests which seemed to go on forever. The town
itself had been built of a tall hill and from which you could see
almost forever. It was called Sanctuary Hill because fur traders
hunted these lands in the early years of European colonization, a
small outpost built atop that hill which they could be see from a
great distance away and would be called sanctuary from the harsh
wilderness.

I drove through
town in my old beat up green truck, all my belongings strapped to
the flatbed; the truck I had been driving since I was a kid. The
town appeared just as it had when I left nearly a decade before.
A great part of the forest around the hill had been logged away
long before and a few dozen homes had been built around the base
of the hill. Atop the hill was main street along which most of
the towns business where located, a gas station, a liquor store,
a pizza place, a few other business. Although the buildings in
town predated the century so there was a somewhat of a decayed,
dilapidated appearance to the town.

It was an early
Sunday morning, so the streets where entirely empty, I imagined
the towns people where all congregated at the ancient church
built near town square at the top of the hill.

I passed by town
square and came to the town's cemetery, a large grassy field
surrounded by a iron fence. Inside a gargantuan willow tree
towered over the tombstones, its branches waving limply in a
breeze. Amongst the tombstones where statues, angels and
gargoyles who silently watched over the graves.

I parked my truck
in front of the gate and got out. I turned towards the Church
which was across the street from me. It was large cathedral, and
its steeple loomed above me. The large doors where open, and I
could hear the sermon of the preacher inside, the same hell and
brimstone stuff that terrified me as a kid.

I then entered the
cemetery and walked along the rows of tombstones. All the older
graves had been placed in the center, the newer ones along the
edges of the cemetery. It was easy for me to find where my
parents had been buried. I knelt down before them, it had been
the first time I had paid my respects since they passed away. My
father had died a year ago, my mother the year before that.
Although I saw them occasionally, I had not been in town since I
left fifteen years before. My father visited the city
occasionally, I would visit my mother over in the asylum in Falls
County miles from town.

I looked down at
the graves, I realized that they might have found the peace that
might have been denied to them for so long.

On the face of my
mother's tombstone there was old faded paint spelling out,
"Murdering Bitch." I guess people hadn't forgotten, being accused
of two murders in such an isolated community is something that
people never forget. I had long ago decided to never dwell on
what had happened. It was one of the reasons I left
town.

I did my moment of
silence and returned to my truck. As I walked out of the gates I
realized that the church parishioners where now letting out and
talking on the church steps. I realized a few where looking at
me. I understood why, this place was isolated from the rest of
the world by the sea of trees, and outsiders where uncommon and
in some ways unwelcome. But some of the older ones where looking
at my truck, same truck I drove when I was young.

I didn't look at
them as I got into my truck and drove away.

I had met the stiff
lawyer who was the executor of my uncle's estate a few days
before in Kirkland City, a small city about a fifty miles away
from Sanctuary Hill. I signed all the papers and now my uncle's
garage and home where mine. After I had left the cemetery I found
my new home. It was a modest one-story home in a state of
disrepair, though I knew that fixing the place up would be a
constructive way to pass my some time. I spent the rest of the
morning moving my stuff in. I didn't bother unpacking my stuff, I
was more interested in the garage at the top of the
hill.

When I drove up to
the garage, it looked just like it did that summer my uncle
taught me how to be a mechanic. Before I could not tell you the
difference between a spark plug and an alternator, afterward I
was an efficient mechanic to say the least. My father had sent me
to work for him during the age where I had a lot of teenage
turmoil which was making me act out.

It was a large
green building with tin siding, you could easily fit two cars
inside. My uncle had always managed to make enough to live off
with that place, I imagined it would be no different for me. The
garage doors where locked, I was about to go in when I happened
to see the Ma's general store next door and I decided to give to
visit.

Ma was a kind,
elderly woman whose age was not known but who most agreed was
around at the turn of the century. I had liked her as a child,
and was glad to see her still tending shop.

I walked inside.
Inside where several rows of shelves stocked with goods; several
cats where sleeping lazily among the produce and merchandise.
Behind a large wooden counter stood Ma. Though she appeared quit
aged, she still had that perpetual smile that I had found so
compassionate as a child.

I stepped up to the
counter and said, "Hi Ma. Good to see you again."

She squinted at me
for a second. "I know who you are," she said, "if it isn't little
Luther, Luther Redstone. I haven't seen you in years. What brings
you back to Sanctuary Hill?"

I replied, "I'm
taking over my uncle's garage. Thought I would escape the rat
race of the city. Things are peaceful around here."

I had been away for
so long that I really didn't know what had been going on during
my absence, though Ma was an endless fountain of knowledge when
it came to local history and gossip.

I asked, "so, what
has been going on around here lately?"

"Well, nothing much
happens here," Ma admitted, "but last winter there was another
disappearance. Sonny Maxwell and Gene White, you remember them
don't you, they went hunting last winter and they never returned.
They still haven't found any trace of them. It shook everybody
up."

There where only
two types of news in Sanctuary Hill, no news and bad news. I
remember that the town had more then its share of tragedy, I knew
that better then most since my own childhood had been ruined by
one of those tragedies.

The shop door
opened and a tall, well built Native American fellow with long,
black hair and dressed in denim, walked in. I knew him, or more
like knew of him, I had been told that his name was Jason Raven
and he was considered somewhat of an odd duck by most of the
town's people. I knew he made his living from taxidermy, aside
from that the man was a complete mystery to me. He was known to
be a very solitary guy.

Jason stepped up to
the counter and asked, "you wouldn't have any lamp oil would
you?"

She answered, "yes,
I can help you out."

Jason turned his
head and looked at me.

I extended my hand
towards Jason and said, "Luther."

Jason didn't shake
my hand and continued to look at me. "You are Tiffany Redstone's
son aren't you?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I
am."

"How is she these
days?"

I muttered, "She
passed away several years ago."

My mother's
confinement in a psychiatric hospital was a very sensitive
subject for me, I had visited her many times before she died and
seeing her under the influence of medications was hard because
she seemed only partly alive. I knew about the events which had
led to her confinement as did the whole town, though I rarely
spoke of them. I guess it was to painful to
address.

Jason offered his
condolences. "I am sorry to hear that. But has been tough for
you, being her son."

I defensively said,
"I don't want to talk about it friend."

Ma put two
containers of lamp oil on the counter. "Here is your oil
Jason."

Jason took out his
wallet and pulled out several bills and handed them to Ma. He
said, "keep the change." He took his lamp oil and headed for the
door.

I said, "I'll see
you around Jason."

He briefly looked
back at me then said flatly, "Maybe."

Jason left and I
was alone with Ma again. I asked her, "do you know Jason
well?"

She shook her head.
"He comes to the store every now and then, though he never says
much and he does seem to keep to himself mostly. He has lived
here for many decades yet he doesn't seem to want to make any
friends."

"Well, I guess I'll
be off, though I'm going to be a regular customer."

I got a thousand
dollar bill from my wallet and placed it on the counter. Ma
looked at me and asked, "what is this for?"

"For the tab. When
I left I remember I had a large tab, so I'm paying you
back."

"I'm happy your are
back Luther."

"Yeah," I said,
"glad to be back."

Later that day I
was busy organizing all tools my uncle used and cleaning up the
garage. During my cleaning I was alarmed to find a box with
several sticks of dynamite in it tied into a bundle. My uncle
occasionally used them to destroy beaver dams. I hid the box in
the corner beneath a bunch of empty boxes. A large, rusty engine
was suspended by chains from the ceiling.

I was so focused on
my work I failed to notice someone walking up behind
me.

"Luther, I could
smell you from across town."

I was startled and
I dropped the socket in my hand and I turned to face the stranger
who was standing behind me. He was overjoyed to see my childhood
friend Paul Jackson standing there.

He had spent his
life doing hard labor, and his physical appearance revealed this
because he was large guy who looked tough. He had prematurely
gray hair, though he was in his mid thirties, he looked much
older.

I asked, "how did
you know I was in town?"

"I saw the Green
Snot."

I laughed. He
always called my truck the Green Snot.

I said, "it is good
to see you again, how the hell have you been doing
lately?"

Paul slapped me on
the arm. "Luther," he said, "I can't believe you actually came
back to this one horse town. Why in the name of God would you
come back?"

I turned back to my
tools and spoke as I continued organizing them. "The city is all
it is cracked up to be, man. At least here I don't have to be in
such a relentless rush all the time, things are more relaxed
here."

"Jesus, this town
has to be the most boring place on the entire planet, nothing
ever happens here."

I asked, "what
keeps you here then?"

"You know why," he
replied, "my father left me his farm and I'm not going to sell
it."

"I see Paul, you
got responsibilities here."

I and Paul had been
friends for as long as I could remember, and we had always two
directly opposite individuals. Paul was muscular guy who spent
most of his time doing heavy physical labor and he was the most
outgoing person you could meet, he could shoot the shit well with
friends and stranger alike. I, I spent my youth reading books and
avoiding hard work, and I had grown into a tall, slim guy with
short brown hair. But, as young guys, we had been in a couple of
fights together, and there was no one else I would want to cover
my back in a fight. We weren't brothers in blood, but we where
close after going through so many trials of life
together.

Paul said, "yeah, I
got responsibilities, though I know you have spent your life
trying to avoid any kind of responsibility."

"Listen," I told
him, "I am responsible for myself alone, and that is all the
responsibility I need."

Paul shrugged. "So,
have you seen Lizbeth yet?"

As soon as I heard
the name I could feel my heartbeat slow down, I hadn't really
thought about her in ages.

I muttered, "no, I
haven't. Does she still live here?"

"Yeah."

"How is
she?"

"She is doing
really good for herself, her husband is on the town
council."

I turned to Paul
and asked, "who did she marry?"

"Carl Smith," he
answered.

I said, "shit, not
that asshole."

Lizbeth Bechet was
the only major love I had in my youth, an attractive french
Canadian girl. Though when she refused to leave Sanctuary Hill
with me, we said our tearful goodbyes. I remembered her as she
was in her youth, with curly brunette hair; blue eyes, an
attractive figure. I had been married twice, though I had never
loved another woman as I had loved her. I guess every love you
ever have will always be compared to your first. I didn't know
what she saw in me then, I really didn't.

Carl Smith was a
guy in school who had beaten me to a pulp a few times, he took a
special interests in making my life difficult.

I, dumbfounded,
asked, "why would she marry him?"

"Carl doing pretty
well for himself," Paul said, "he is on the town council, as well
as being related to the only rich family around here. Lizbeth did
OK for herself as husbands go I guess if you look at it from a
strictly superficial standpoint."

I, somewhat upset,
slammed the tool in my hand down hard on my work bench. I said,
"she deserves better then Carl Smith."

Paul nodded. "Yeah,
he was always spreading shit about your family. Man, I had to
stop him from beating the shit out of you more then once. You
know, people around here still are very opinionated but that
whole deal. I'm sure people are already talking about you being
back."

I put my hands down
on the bench and sighed heavily. "I don't care about what anyone
has to say, it has nothing to do with me. Shit, shouldn't people
have gotten over this by now. It was over twenty fucking years
ago."

"OK," Paul said,
"but are you going to talk with Lizbeth, because she is now the
receptionist at the town hall. It just a short walk from
here."

I bluntly said, "me
and her ended a long time ago, besides, she is married now. I'm
really not going to get involved in anything with
her."

Paul smiled. "Yeah,
I know you, you want to see her. Stop being a pussy and be a
man."

I shook my head. "I
couldn't care less, besides, I got two ex-wives who are draining
the life out of me through alimony payments. I really don't need
to get into it with another skirt. I don't want her to know I'm
back."

"OK, Luther, I got
it."

"Paul," I said,
"have you gone and married someone or are you still a swinging
single?"

"Actually got
hitched not soon after you left."

"Who?"

"Marry
Keller."

I laughed. "You
used to call her the wicked bitch of the west, you've gone and
married her. God, she used to despise me."

"She isn't that
bad, though when I tell her you are back in town, well, she won't
happy."

"Yeah, she thought
I was a bad influence or something."

It was good to talk
to Paul again, he was always the consummate optimist who could
see the good side of any situation. I myself was a pessimist
about almost everything. I have had a few friends during the
course of my life, though Paul was the only one I ever respected,
I always knew him to be a decent person. His commitment to family
was absolute, and in most situations, he would stand by a
friend.

Paul started to
talk. "I can't believe you became a mechanic. As a kid, you
didn't know a God damn thing about cars."

I looked at Paul.
"Yeah, well, I had a good teacher."

Paul looked around
and saw the 350 big block engine suspended from the ceiling. It
was in the drastic need of an overhaul, and until business
started coming in, I guessed fixing it would be good for a
diversion for awhile.

Paul said, "do you
think you can fix it?"

I replied, "there
isn't any engine I couldn't fix, it just needs some time and a
little care. You up for helping?"

"Sorry," Paul said,
"I've got a ton of work to do at the farm, harvest you know. I'm
a busy guy, not a moment to waste."

"OK. Oh, if you see
Lizbeth, don't tell her I've come back."

Paul asked, "want
to get piss drunk tonight at the bar, just like old
times?"

I had fought hard
to rid myself of alcohol abuse, so I answered, "I don't touch the
sauce any more. Maybe we can hang out some other
time."

"Well," Paul said,
"I'll see you later."

"OK, it is good to
see you again man."

Paul returned to
his car parked outside my garage, got in and drove away. Though
me and Paul meant to keep in contact, it had been many years
since I talked to him last. I looked forward to pissing some time
away with Paul, I had always enjoyed his company.

I returned to
organizing my tools and equipment as the day slowly passed
by.

I was closing up
the garage for the day as the sun slowly sunk beneath the horizon
and the dark embrace of night came. I stood in front of my garage
as I locked the doors. I hadn't gotten much accomplished, though
I was happy with the condition of the place. I guess my uncle was
fastidious when it came to how he kept his garage. I was happy
that this was my own business, though I wondered if business
would be good enough to pay the bills. But I had decided to take
a gamble. Though personal history seemed to show that every
gamble I had ever taking in life had never paid
off.

I turned away from
the garage and I saw her standing there and I heart began to beat
faster.

I knew it was
Lizbeth, and a cavalcade of emotions I hadn't felt for a long
time overtook me. She still had her dark raven hair, her figure
was slim and she moved in a vary feminine way. But her eyes where
just as I remembered, piercing and deep. She still spoke with a
french accent.

I stammered,
"Liz."

She took a step
towards me. "Hi Luther," she said, "I heard that you took over
your uncles garage."

"Yeah, but how did
you know I was in town?"

Lizbeth shrugged.
"Paul came to town hall this afternoon and told me you where back
in town."

I said, "I
implicitly told him not to tell you."

Lizbeth asked, "why
didn't you want me to know you where in town?"

I looked away from
her and replied, "we exchanged some pretty harsh words when we
parted ways, I don't know, maybe I thought you didn't want to see
me and maybe we should just let sleeping dogs lie. Honestly, I
thought you and me where over.

"Why did you think
I wouldn't want to see you, that I wasn't happy to hear you're
back. I would like to think we are still friends."

I said, "friends,
of course. Anyways, I heard you went and married Carl
Smith."

She sighed. "Yes,
we where married a year after you left."

"I see," I said, "I
hope he is making you happy, you deserve to be happy Liz. I guess
that was something I could never do for your."

"You still being to
hard on yourself."

"Yeah, I guess some
things never change. What kind of husband is Carl."

She responded with,
"he is a good husband and a good father, he has done a lot for
me."

"You have a
kid?"

"Yes, his name is
Ben."

There was something
I had wanted to know since we had split up, and I finally asked
her something that had bothered me for a long time.

"Lizbeth, when you
refused to move away with, was it because you didn't want to be
with me, where you glad I left because I'm sure everyone else
was?"

She thought about
something for a moment then said, "I know you wanted to escape
this place since childhood, but Luther, I didn't want to leave.
My friends and family are here, my entire life is here, and you
asked to leave it all. You broke my heart when you left, do you
think you are the only one who suffered. And you never wrote me,
you didn't even call."

"Because, I was
scared what you might say."

"You just dropped
completely out of my life and never once tried to reach me, you
hurt me. But it doesn't mean I was not happy when I heard you
where back."

"Yeah," I said,
"well, it is better that you didn't go with me. All I found in
the city was disappointment. I never could give you the things
you deserved, I guess Carl can."

Lizbeth said, "I
missed you."

"Yeah, I missed you
to. All these years I've been away."

She asked,
"something seems to be troubling you, what is it?"

I looked away from
her eyes. "It is killing me to stand here and talk to you, I was
an idiot for leaving, and I don't want to think that if I had
stayed that we would still have been together. I've found love
and lost love in the city, but I will always regret leaving you.
I must be the world's biggest idiot, honestly, you where the only
damn thing in life that ever made it worth living. When I lost
you, it felt like I lost my reason for living."

Lizbeth said, "I
understand why you left, I mean, people around really don't like
the Redstone family ever since your mother was taken away. It was
horrible the things they called you as a kid."

I frowned. "I
didn't meet many people in the city who liked me either. Besides,
I don't care about anything people might have to say about my
family, what the fuck do they know. What ever my mom did way back
when has nothing to do with me."

Lizbeth asked,
"Luther, why did you really come back?"

"Because," I
replied, "I lived in the city for over ten years, and the stress
of urban life was really getting more then I could take. I
remembered this place, I came back to where life seemed simpler.
I know my family name is held in poor regard here, that was why I
really left. I can't escape it, I'm a Redstone and this town is
my home. If people want to look down on me for what my mother
did, then so what."

"I think you
weren't trying to run away from this town, you where trying to
run away from your family or their reputation."

I said, "I never
asked you, but why did you get mixed up with me, I mean, I don't
suppose people where much kinder to you then they where to me
when we where together. Honestly, people here like your family,
they despise mine. You are better then me, you always
where."

Lizbeth smiled.
"Because, you could always make me laugh and you treated me like
the most important thing in the world. You broke my heart when
you left me."

"Sorry, I'm a world
class idiot for leaving you."

Lizbeth asked, "are
you going anywhere?"

"Yeah, I own the
white house at the bottom of the hill. A short walk from
here."

My truck was parked
nearby, but I was hoping she would walk with me.

"Can I come with
you," she asked.

"Sure, I would like
that."

So we started to
walk side by side, down the road which led to my new residence.
We walked in silence for a moment, and I savored every moment of
her company. I didn't know why, but I felt as if my love for her
had been dormant but seeing her brought back very old feelings.
But then she was another man's wife, and I knew her well enough
to know that she wouldn't be unfaithful, she had actually been
born with some class.

I asked, "So, what
kind of husband is old Carl?"

"Let me see," she
said, "he is at work a lot, and we don't spend much time together
lately, it seems that work is taking up all his spare time. But
he is very successful and we are doing well."

I laughed slightly.
"I don't know, what kind of man would rather be at work rather
then be with you."

Lizbeth sighed
again. "He tries hard. I loved you Luther, but you did everything
in such a half assed manner."

I was surprised.
"Are you saying I do everything half-assed, because I assure you,
lately I've been able to utilize three quarters of my ass at
least."

She laughed. "I'm
serious, you have ability yet you never seem to look for
opportunities, you just let life roll by and never strive for
better."

I shook my head.
"You and I see life through different eyes. I wish I could see
things like you and be hopeful and optimistic, but Liz, through
my eyes, this world doesn't seem to like me very
much."

"It doesn't hate
you, you could succeed if you put your mind to it."

"Wait," I said
back, "you chose to stay here, and your damn smarter then I am,
you could have made it out there, you could have found something
better for yourself. Me, I'm not a bad guy, but I'm a simple guy.
You, you are something special."

"I'm happy here
Luther, unlike you, I don't have a chip on my shoulder about this
town."

I said, "after they
took my mother away, after they accused her of those horrible
things, everyone in this town thought that I was just as guilty
as her. They see me as her fucked up seed, just how are you
suppose to feel when everyone tells you as a kid that you are
inherently evil. If it wasn't for you, I'd either be dead or in
prison by now. This town just really seemed to have it in for
me."

"Yet you came
back."

"Yeah," I said,
"I'm really past the point by now of giving a shit about what
people in this town might think of me. Besides, I'm just here to
run a little business and find a sense of inner peace, something
you would be hard pressed to find in the city."

She looked at me
and she asked, "when you visited your mother, did she ever tell
you what had happened?"

I told her, "last
couple of times I saw her in the asylum, she was so whacked out
on pills that she was nothing but a shell of her former self. I
asked, or tried to ask her what happened, and she started to rant
a rave about demons, monsters, she didn't make any
sense."

She said, "When we
where together, there was nothing anyone could have said to make
me stop loving you. I know you feel like you have this dark cloud
hanging over you, but things aren't as bad as they
seem."

We reached the
small, single story home then both walked up onto my porch then
faced each other. We smiled, though I hated that she belonged to
another man, because at that exact moment, I knew she was the
best thing to happen to me in my entire life.

I asked, "would you
like to come in?"

She replied, "no,
Carl is expecting me for dinner. I guess I'll see you
around."

"See you later
then."

We parted company
and I watched her walk away, she stopped and looked back at me,
then continued on. After I went inside my rather modest
domicile.

I decided to get
some sleep. Since did not come easily, I lay in my bed and looked
at the ceiling. My thoughts then turned to the incident which had
tainted my family name in this community, and I remembered. I
remember when it first began to destroy the ones I cared
for.